


mnemosyne

by cosmoscrow



Category: Dragon Quest Builders (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, POV Second Person, Poetic, but i had a lot of Emotions, i have no idea what this is, its disgustingly sweet at times even, literally bro thats all i have, mostly fluff at the end, rain is such a good mood setter tbh, random strike of inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmoscrow/pseuds/cosmoscrow
Summary: Your name is Malroth.And you stand in the rain and remember.
Relationships: Builder/Malroth (Dragon Quest Builders 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	mnemosyne

**Author's Note:**

> for my friends, who've been literally throttling me for any kind of romance between Malroth and my builder, Toola

* * *

Your name is Malroth.

You stand outside, in the rain, on an emerald meadow, surrounded by flowers of every kind. The skies are greyed out by thick clouds and they weep. They weep and weep, steadily, heavy drops pearling down your face as you watch on. They feel like tears, maybe even your tears. You don’t know, but you ask yourself anyway; is there something to cry about?

Maybe there is plenty to spill tears over, you think. Fears, nightmares, memories – you think of iron bars caging you in, so, so, so cold to the touch. You think of strange voices in your head, of invisible chains choking you. You think of claws and horns and fangs growing from within you, swallowing everything whole, everything you came to love. Fears, nightmares, memories.

Have you cried all your tears yet? You try to remember in all the terror, the horror, if you had ever shed a single tear. You don’t know. But maybe you did, your heart had hurt enough then, it surely must’ve wept in dark, dark silence. You don’t know. You think that’s good, because you don’t want to know. To remember. The darkness, the cold, the rush of power drowning you, the haze of crimson and chaotic destruction.

Instead of remembering, you let the rain soak you, through your clothes, down to your bones. Let it cleanse you and chase away the shame you still carry with you, the anger, the sadness, the fear. You wash yourself of nightmares–

Memories–  
Nightmares–  
Memories–

You wash yourself in the rain and let this stillness, this calmness settle within you. Everything clears out, sounds crisp in your ears. You hear the rain rolling off of leaves, dropping onto flower petals. You hear the river swelling, the hasty footsteps of people seeking for shelter, the distant rumble of thunder rolling in soon. You hear the familiar squeal of hinges, belonging to a long familiar door, not too far off from where you stand.

When you breathe out, it escapes over your lips in a fog into cooled air. You don’t register the cold, the way the water sticks to your skin. But instead, you listen how bare feet touch down onto stepping stones, onto wooden stairs, gliding over wet grass and stopping so close next to you. You can feel her, despite the lack of touch. The perpetual warmth she exudes like a glow, like a candle in the dark, you can feel it and it beckons you to look.

She watches you with those big doe eyes – their colour reminds you of tree bark, of wood, of earth, so deep brown and in them slumbers something so profoundly warm. You have so many words to describe it, and yet not enough words at all. The rain pearls off of her still dry hair, a peach hue, a beacon of light in the greyed out world. Her scent finds your nose almost immediately, despite all the petrichor, and you smell the familiar whiff of flowers, honey and wood. Raindrops stain her round glasses, seemingly always slightly too big for her face, and one falls onto her cheek. It looks like a tear.

You lift your hand and wipe it away; her brown skin nearly burns under your fingers and only now you notice the cold. It seeps in, stealing your warmth, but you leech it from her. For she seems always warm, always aglow, like low burning embers in the night. But despite the coolness of your touch, she smiles nonetheless and her eyes shimmer with warmth, affection, love, love love–

You thumb more raindrops from her face and your heart squeezes – how many tears has she shed over you? Over your actions? Your choices? You think of iron bars in front of her, you think of heart-shattering words striking her, you think of her with bruises, scratches, of battle after battle. How many times have you broken her heart? One time had been already too much. And yet, she stitched it back up and chased after you, chased you through uncertainty, through chaos, through terror – you remember how her touch had been still as gentle, still as warm as the first time. And it continues to be so, when she cups her hand over your own.

She’s still looking at you, her eyes so bright and glittering. So you lean down and kiss her. In the rain on an emerald meadow, surrounded by flowers of all kinds. And warmth seeps into you, setting fire to the stillness, the calmness, burning it into relief, into joy, into exhilaration. Your heart soars and you can hear how hers does too. There’s so much you want to tell her, lay your feelings bare to her, but right now, this is enough. The intimate press of lips, both speaking tales in such lovely silence. 

It’s good. 

You feel good.


End file.
